The next day was no easier. Seeker quickly learned to eat, even when tired or nauseated—work was twice as hard the next day if he didn’t. Day-old bread cost half as much—only three coppers—and gave him just enough strength to keep going. Sometimes Comfort brought him sandwiches at lunchtime, and they would sit and eat together.
He counted the hours each day. And the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. And on Sunday, he rested. He’d read his books. Sometimes he’d descend into the ravine just to sit by the stream and think.
The months passed. He grew stronger, and the work felt lighter—but he was always tired, and his body always ached. His clothes grew thin, his beard grew in, and most of all, his heart grew heavy.
He spent every night in the dream with Beautiful. He clung to every moment, every kiss—but it was never enough. Each night, she’d whisper, “I love you,” and then he’d wake to another long day at the tread-wheel.
Seeker managed his money carefully, spending as little as possible. Seven gold—that’s what he needed for the earnest payment on the land.
Beautiful would urge him, “Don’t always be so serious. Buy yourself something delicious to eat.” So, he did—just to please her. And now and then, a peddler came through selling books. The man liked him and always gave him a good price. Sometimes, Seeker would skip a meal to buy a book instead. It kept him happy.
Fall turned to winter, and the mill shut down. Seeker chopped wood near the edge of the Forest of Danger—some for building new homes in Delight, some for heating the old. The labor was hard, but he welcomed the change. At least it wasn’t as monotonous as the mill. Wolf howls echoed from the forest, but the beasts never came close.
Seeker spent Christmas in the dream with Beautiful—and her birthday, and his. Just one more Christmas alone, and they’d be together. Forever.
When spring came, he helped plow the fields in the Interpreter’s realm—and planted the seeds by hand. Funny, he thought. These were the same fields where he’d met Beautiful, walking among the wheat as if it had always been there. He’d never considered that someone had to plant it, harvest it, grind it into flour—to make the bread he ate each day.
As the months passed, their dream began to fade. The colors grew less vibrant. Her voice, quieter. Her face, harder to see. He spent hours staring at her sketch, trying to hold on to every line—but he couldn’t stop it.
Harvest came, and he worked in the fields, reaping grain. The words echoed in his mind, tormenting him, “Hi, I’m Beautiful.” Was this the spot where she’d first poked his stomach and smiled? The Interpreter’s tower stood in the distance, calling to him—but there was no time. Sacks marked with Delight’s smiling face waited to be filled. Straw to be bound into bales. Carts to be loaded.
Harvest ended, and it was back to the mill. The work wasn’t hard anymore—just boring. The scent of wheat reminded him of Beautiful constantly. But in the dream, he could no longer smell her.
At last, a year had passed. He finished his shift for the week and Comfort paid him. He finally had seven gold. The land would be his. Just one more year, and he could begin building their home.
